Identity
by Ariel D
Summary: Gaara, Kankuro, and Temari all have secrets as it concerns their identities; they all have things they want but think they can never have. Can they help each other heal? Post War Arc. AUish.
1. Part 1

**Identity**

By Ariel-D

_Description: Gaara, Kankuro, and Temari all have secrets as it concerns their identities; they all have things they want but think they can never have. Can they help each other heal? Post War Arc._

_Disclaimer: Gaara, Kankuro, Temari, and the Naruto-verse are copyrighted by Masashi Kishimoto and Weekly Shonen Jump. I am making no profit; this is just for fun._

_**A/N: You will probably find this story to be shocking in the face of canon. However, that's the entire point. Consider it AU.**__ The idea for the story, though, came from the things Gaara wonders while being dead: "Why did I want those things?" And, also, it came from Databook 3, in which Kishimoto points out that Gaara defines himself by his bonds to others and then posits the question to the readers if that's really okay. I decided to take up that implied gauntlet and then expand it to all three of the Sandsibs._

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><p><strong>Part I<strong>

Gaara had a secret.

He didn't really want to be Kazekage.

When he had taken on Naruto's dream as his own, all Gaara had considered was the possible outcome: the village accepting him. He would no longer have to fear ceasing to exist. No one would wish him away; no one would try to assassinate him. He wouldn't have to fear when the next attack would come, wouldn't have to worry about finally facing the assassin who was too strong, wouldn't have to hurt under the weight of other people's hate.

More importantly, he wouldn't have to be lonely.

At first, Gaara had been too focused on his goal to notice anything else. So focused, in fact, that he'd utterly failed to recognize that the acceptance and love he was working for he already had. He'd died and stood around in the afterlife wondering if anyone had needed him and why he wanted so much to be needed — to be Kazekage — at all. When he awakened, he'd been stunned to see the care and acceptance aimed his way, but he hadn't denied the secret question in his heart: why did he want these things to begin with?

A year had passed. A world war had passed. Gaara had fought to protect his best friend and his village. Gaara had fought to save the entire world. But the truth was he didn't have to be Kazekage to do those things, and it was only after offering his life to presumably save the village from Deidara that Gaara had understood what a Kazekage was in the first place.

A Kazekage was a village leader, and a good leader was someone with a vision: a vision for the trajectory of the village — their needs, their dreams, their goals, and their future. Gaara had understood only three things when he'd been promoted: the Kazekage was usually respected, the Kazekage had to protect the village even if it meant dying, and the Kazekage had to work hard to keep the village on its feet. Those were the surface behaviors he'd seen in his father.

The truth was much grander, however. The Kazekage needed a powerful vision of what the future should be, what steps to take to get there, and who to assign what projects to get those steps accomplished. The Kazekage had to assess and utilize people's strengths and weaknesses, motivate his shinobi and civilians, make short-term and long-term financial decisions and investments, set standards for the academy, prepare military strategy, play a complicated political game with the council of elders, and a dozen other high-stakes and heavy-responsibility duties. In short, Gaara didn't need to simply understand how to fight or fight well. He needed to understand history, psychology, sociology, economics, politics, and military strategy; in addition, he needed strong communication skills in order to get across his ideas and persuade others. On top of all this, he was expected to find a wife and have heirs.

Before losing Shukaku, Gaara had literally worked twenty two hours a day, stopping only to eat and bathe, in order to learn what he needed to know, attempt to use it, and keep up his training. Now that Gaara had to sleep, he fortunately understood his tasks better, had gained respect, and had learned to delegate. However, he had reached an inescapable conclusion: he hadn't understood what a Kazekage was, he'd pursued the position only in a bid to be accepted, and now he realized he wasn't well-matched to his job.

In fact, many days he hated it.

This day was no different. Gaara looked up as someone knocked on his office door. "Enter."

His most competent personal aide swept into the room. Were it not for her superhuman powers of organization, Gaara suspected the entire office would have exploded by now. "The financial reports are in, sir," she said briskly, setting a stack of scrolls on his desk.

"In short?" Gaara had long ago asked her to read and summarize these kinds of reports before he read them. He had no idea if the request was appropriate, but she was the fastest reader he'd ever known and had learned what he preferred to focus on.

"We definitely have an issue, sir." She seemed grim. "The supply report indicates that our warehouses were depleted by 94 percent during the war. The village craftsmen and smiths indicate the orders will take eight months to complete. The cost exceeds our yearly budget by 178 percent, and we're already running at a deficit due to the supplementing the hospital so all the war casualties could be treated."

Gaara felt instantly overwhelmed. His economic advisor had been wailing of doom and gloom for three weeks, and the council had presented him with legislation that would raise taxes to cover all the costs. Everyone was already suffering, though, and Gaara wasn't convinced that increasing their income tax by five percent and their sales tax by three percent was an even remotely sane solution. "I see."

Yes, some days he deeply hated his job.

His aide gave him an understanding smile and pointed to the scroll on the top of the stack. "The allocation of village funds is here. And I have a suggestion, sir, if you'd like to hear it."

"Certainly." Although it was another thing he wasn't sure was appropriate, Gaara often allowed her to voice her opinions. He'd found that his aide often had clearer ideas than the councilmen who'd served Suna for the last thirty years. He could only assume it was because she didn't exist inside all the political maneuvering, but she still read all the same reports.

"Look at the line that says what the council is paid per year." She held his gaze. "Then ask Kankuro-sama and Temari-sama how much they earn per year." She paused. "After all, the budget has to be balanced to work, yes? And you have to consider where all the money comes from and where it goes."

Gaara had a bad feeling about that. "You see a problem, I take it."

"Well, sir . . ." She watched him closely for a moment. "The council has given itself an eight percent raise each year for the last four years. Perhaps asking Kankuro-sama and Temari-sama what they've grossed for the last four years would be helpful. Not to mention comparing the number of missions completed and hours logged by council members to the number completed and logged by your siblings."

Gaara got the message. "I see." She definitely had her own agenda, he realized, but he wasn't sure that was a bad thing. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

She bowed and departed, leaving Gaara to the ever-deepening swirl of politics, not to mention the inherent inequality between the ruling and working classes. Gaara already knew that his siblings had earned approximately the same amount each year, and poverty was rampant in Suna. With trepidation, he opened the scroll and scanned the report until he found the budget allotment for the council. Taking the figure and dividing by the number of council members, he had their average income, although he suspected the median and the mean would be quite different. The result made him literally physically nauseated.

_Why didn't I notice this before? _he thought, horrified. Then again, the council had treated him more like a pawn in the beginning, giving him access to as little information and power as possible. He had sat in on all their meetings, but his opinion was never asked and rarely acknowledged when offered. It was one of the reasons he'd assumed while he was dead that he hadn't been accepted yet.

_Why did I want these people to accept and like me?_ he wondered. What had he thought he'd gain, precisely? Respect? Why did he need their respect? Love? They didn't love him even now, and he didn't want them to. Friendship? They weren't his friends either, although they treated him with honor now. Validation and value?

But there was the sticking point. When he was younger, he'd thought other people had to validate his opinions, decisions, and feelings, or he had to work twice as hard to prove them valid. Without one or the other, he thought he'd cease to exist. He'd also believed that his value was determined by his usefulness to other people. If they didn't need him, if he couldn't be an ultimate weapon for them, then he lacked value as a human being. From that point of view, his only choice in life was to work hard to become the most valued and validated person in his village: the Kazekage. Only as the Kazekage could he be respected and accepted. Only as the Kazekage could he ensure his existence.

Now he was beginning to wonder if those things were true.

A second knock sounded on the door. Gaara gathered his nerves, not wanting any further pending economic disasters to land on his head. "Enter."

A familiar blonde poked her head into the room. "That sounded spirited." Temari slipped into his office and shut the door behind her. "Rough day?"

Gaara scanned her appearance, checking for injuries. He didn't see any blood, but she was covered in sand, dust, and dirt from nearly head to toe. "Rough day?"

She grinned. "Nah. Well, yeah. But it was worth every moment of it."

With some irony, Gaara decided that of his siblings and him, Temari might love her job the most. He sighed and stared at the scrolls on his desk.

Crossing the room, Temari set a gem on his desk. "Found that diamond they were talking about. Thought I better bring it straight to you."

Gaara wondered how much they could sell it for and if it would help the village economy at all. "Thank you."

Temari eyed him critically. "You're not fooling me. What's up?"

Considering his nee-san, Gaara realized she never asked for validation from anyone else. She didn't care if other people agreed with her or not. She rarely asked for their opinions on an issue, although she weighed them carefully when she did, and she never cared if someone hated her. In short, she had lived her life as his opposite, which was understandable since she also hadn't faced the things he'd faced. "Do I need other people to validate me?" He supposed he should have provided context for his question, but he decided if she needed it, she would ask.

"Validation?" Temari paused. "No, of course not. No one does."

Gaara had expected the no, but he hadn't expected the rest. "No one does?"

Temari shrugged. "Why would you? Validation is an absolute. No one can make you more valid. No one can make you less valid."

With horrible certainty, Gaara understood he was still wounded. He'd come a long way, but he was missing pieces. "Why not?"

"How could they?" Temari sighed. "Did the council do something again? Bastards." She crossed her arms and leaned her hip against his desk. "Look. Let's start from the top. How can someone make you invalid? How can they make your feelings invalid? It's impossible. If you feel that the distribution of power in this village is unfair and inequitable, then that's your opinion. You don't have to validate your feelings. Your feelings might be based on misinformation, sure, but they might also be based on a belief system you have. The misinformation is an honest mistake, not something that invalidates you as a person. And you don't have to explain a feeling or belief to anyone. If you want to take action based on it, only then do you have to provide evidence. But the evidence is for the action, not the actual feeling."

Among them all, Temari was also the most logical. "I suppose." Gaara felt like he had even more questions now, though.

Temari frowned. "You're not convinced. Okay, let me try again." She paused, clearly considering her options. "What if I came to you and said I thought you loved Kankuro more than me?"

Disturbed, Gaara watched his sister closely. In truth, he did have a closer bond with Kankuro, although he wouldn't say it was a matter of love. More like compatibility.

"You would provide evidence for why it wasn't true, perhaps. But your assumption in doing so is that my feelings are based on misinformation. What if they're not? What if I'm perceiving it accurately? You can't change the validity of my feelings with your argument, no matter how well you word it. Even if everyone in the village sides with you against me, it doesn't make my feelings invalid. Only unpopular."

Gaara understood the concept of unpopularity quite well. "That makes sense. After all, your feelings would be based on the truth."

Temari raised an eyebrow. "But truth is still not the same as validity. Taking the same situation, consider this: if I am proceeding on misinformation, and you really loved us the same, it wouldn't change the fact it doesn't _feel_ that way to me. Obviously, there is a cause for my feeling. You would have to decide whether you cared about that cause, and that would be your choice. You're not responsible for my feelings, after all. But the cause could be something objective about your behavior that you could change, and if you did love me, you probably would change it. However, the cause could be some old wound of mine from something Father said or did. Let's say he showed Kankuro and you more love for being male, for example. If that were true, my wound would be understandable, and if you cared to help me recover from it, you'd have to help me see that you weren't like Father. But even then, my feelings wouldn't be invalid, nor would I be invalid as a person. Only wounded. The wound is a real entity creating real feelings that simply became misdirected."

Gaara took several minutes to chew over that answer. "I suppose I see what you're saying." He realized suddenly he was lying. "Wait, no I don't. I still don't see why I don't need to be validated by others."

Shifting to sit on the corner of his desk, Temari gave him a small smile. "I know. It's all over you."

That wasn't very comforting.

"No matter what you believe or feel, no one has the right to take it from you." Temari patted the desktop. "You decided to become Kazekage. No one can say your dream was valid or invalid. I argued with you about whether it was practical or achievable, but I couldn't invalidate it and didn't even try to. It was your dream. You didn't need anyone to validate that. It's helpful to have others who believe in your dream with you, but no matter how little they believe in you, they can't determine your truth. And they didn't determine any external truth, either. You believed, you worked, you persevered, and you achieved."

Gaara couldn't exactly argue with that, although it made him more grateful than ever that Kankuro had never argued with him about his dream. After his initial show of concern, Kankuro had both listened to and accepted his ototo's goals. At first, he'd been the only one who had. "I suppose you would also claim, then, that my value isn't up to others, either."

"Hell, no. Of course it's not." Temari shook her head. "Your validation and worth were self-contained; no one could add to or subtract from them because they aren't determined by humans at all. They're an inherent part of you just because you're alive. Some people prove more useful to society than others. Some people become more successful than others. But no one is inherently more valuable than another. The claim that one person or group is more valuable than another is what leads to shit like racism and genocide, and I know you don't believe in stuff like that."

Once again, Gaara couldn't argue.

Temari canted her head to the side. "You've just now figured all this out, huh?" She smiled. "It's 'bout time, ototo. The council doesn't have to value you or validate you in order for you to be worth something as a human being. Or, to put it like you used to, no one can make you cease to exist."

Gaara nodded solemnly. "Thank you, nee-san."

"Sure thing." Temari hopped off the desk. "Don't kill yourself working today, okay? Take off early or something."

"I'll consider it." Gaara watched her leave, struck by the most basic implication of their talk:

He didn't have to be Kazekage.

He didn't have to earn people's respect, love, or acceptance. He didn't need them to add validation or value to his existence. There was no one he needed to prove himself to, no one he needed to make happy, no one he had to answer to for the dreams of his life — except, of course, himself.

And perhaps he really didn't have the right personality or gifts to rule an entire village.

In the end, Gaara only had one vision for his village: a vision of ethics. He wanted a culture of honor and respect in which people's dreams were nourished, their hard work rewarded, and their inherent value acknowledged. It wasn't a bad vision, but it was only a partial vision. A village was made out of more than ethics. A village was a community with physical, fiscal, emotional, spiritual, and cultural needs. Gaara cared about their physical protection and basic needs, and he had a vision for their emotional welfare and ethical growth. However, he didn't even have an inkling of an idea about the rest.

And what was problematic was he didn't have the drive to generate ideas, either. His focus was tighter and narrower than a Kage's should be, and he flatly lacked the motivation to alter himself yet again in order to fulfill the needs of other people.

The problem was he wasn't sure he could do anything about it. He was Kazekage now, after all. And rather than doom his village, he knew he would sacrifice himself again.

Gaara wondered whether he would ever have an identity that was his and his alone.

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><p>Kankuro had a secret.<p>

He didn't really want to be a shinobi at all.

He never had. Since he had been a small child, his one and only dream had been to be an actor. He wanted to be on a stage, a whole audience before him, moving people's hearts with a stunning performance. Kabuki or bunraku, it didn't matter. He loved puppets with all his soul, after all, although he imagined himself equally often in full kabuki paint. He wanted to perform Suna's greatest classics: _The Kazekage Successors, The Love Suicides at Wind Plains, The Night Song of Chikamatsu Monzaemon,_ and _The Battles of the Five Great Shinobi Nations._ Ironically, he often envisioned himself in the role of the Kazekage in the kabuki plays or controlling the puppet of the Kazekage in the bunraku plays. However, he would never want the job in real life.

As a child, he'd spent considerable time and effort reenacting the plays he'd seen or creating plays of his own. Yondaime Kazekage had been a bit puzzled by his son's interest in the theater, but feeling that being cultured was profitable for a shinobi — especially for the purposes of infiltration — he had agreed to take his son to many performances. As a result, Kankuro had gleaned a considerable amount of ideas, which he'd employed in every room of the mansion. Kotasu tables had become platforms for speeches; epic battles had utilized bokken and taken place in the dojo. The couch arms became horse's backs, and sheets had become kimono. A trunk of old clothes discovered in the basement had been the treasure find of a lifetime. Suddenly, Kankuro had been blessed with old kimono and yukata, along with obi, haori, hakama, and gi. Shortly thereafter had come the kabuki paint.

The sons of Kazekage, however, were not allowed to be actors.

With his dream crushed, Kankuro had been faced with the reality that his occupation was not his to determine. Kankuro tried to figure out what jutsu would suit him best, and even that decision had been fraught with conflict. The answer had then presented itself: the puppet jutsu. He couldn't act or use puppetry in the theater, but at least he could employ puppets in battle. He could only feel grateful that Chikamatsu Monzaemon had been his exact opposite — a bunraku puppeteer who'd dreamed of becoming a shinobi.

Kankuro's dream of being an actor had never died, however. Even though he was now eighteen and a jonin, he still locked himself in his basement workshop, where he could playact to his heart's content. Although he only wore purple kabuki paint into battle and never used the white base coat, when alone he often applied both the white paint and several other colors. The old clothes he'd used as a child now fit him perfectly, and he treated them with care, wanting to extend their use forever.

And so it was that he lost countless hours of sleep secretly living out his first and greatest dream. He would put on music for both dramatic effect and to drown out his voice should his siblings track him down. Several times he'd had to open the workshop door and answer some question of theirs, and they'd seen his outfits and makeup. Since he'd done it his entire life, they didn't bother asking him about it, although Temari had told him more than once that he needed to grow up. But Kankuro didn't want to grow up. If retaining the ability to playact meant he couldn't get married and have kids — and he couldn't imagine being able to do what he did after marrying — then he'd remain a bachelor all his days.

Actually, Kankuro had already grown up. He'd begun working a job at age twelve, as soon as he graduated the academy, and he went out every day and made money to support himself instead of doing what he truly wanted to do. Wasn't that the quintessential definition of an adult? Hard-working, overly practical, and utterly miserable?

"Miserable" being the key word, and this evening was no exception.

A knock sounded on Kankuro's workshop door, and then Temari barged in. "Hey, you sick or something?" She sounded more than curious. More like irritated.

Kankuro glanced at the clock on the wall — the one that always unhelpfully pointed out to him he should have been in bed hours earlier — and knew immediately what her problem was. It was seven o'clock, and he hadn't even started supper. "No, just working on puppets." He gestured to the hand on the table in front of him. As long as his siblings were awake, he tended to work on his puppets instead. He enjoyed working on them, so it was still relaxing, and since it was for his job, they couldn't exactly argue with his usage of time or tell him he needed to grow up (again).

"And what about supper?" Temari propped her hand on her hip.

Kankuro shrugged. "Let's order takeout." Honestly, he had no desire to cook. He'd used to enjoy it, but lately it seemed like nothing but a chore that ate up ridiculous amounts of his time.

"For the third time this week?" Temari sighed. "We can't keep doing this, ototo. You and I don't make enough money to eat out all the time, and we can't make Gaara pay for everything around here. He doesn't get a great salary, anyway. The great concession to the Kazekage is living in this mansion for free."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Kankuro eyed her with displeasure. "But if you're that hungry, it wouldn't kill you to start dinner without me." When their father had died, they'd been forced to dismiss the household servants, lacking the pay to keep them. Temari had split up all the chores, and although it had been a fairly equal split at first, things had shifted over time. Kankuro, having proven to be the only one who could cook well, had ended up fixing all the meals. Granted, he got a certain amount of pleasure in taking care of his siblings — or he had. Now he just felt overworked and used.

Temari shrugged. "I don't know what you plan to fix tonight, and if it's not something basic, I wouldn't know what to do, anyway."

"If you plan to get married some day, then I really should teach you," Kankuro pointed out unkindly. He hated that every time he asked for help, all he got was excuses. These days he was the only one among them who did a chore that had to be completed every day. All the other chores only had to be done once a week.

Glowering at him, Temari straightened her shoulders. "Oh, hell no. Don't even mention shit like that to me. I am not going to throw away my career so I can pop out babies and cook and clean for some man."

Ironically, Kankuro felt like he could quit his job and run the household instead if it just meant he could also steal more time to playact. However, his pride as a man would never allow him to even consider the option. Temari and all his friends would make fun of him. He'd be a laughingstock, and it wouldn't address the fact that he really wanted to act professionally. "Choose your husband carefully, then." Kankuro didn't know many guys in Suna who were willing to split the housework like he had with his siblings.

Temari narrowed her eyes. "Maybe I just won't marry."

"I get that." Although Kankuro had a completely different reason. "Still, it's not gonna kill you to fix dinner once in a while. You can grill fish and boil rice. That's good enough."

"Not my job, ototo." Temari stepped into the doorway. "Suck it up, kiddo. We all want more free time, but we all have chores to do. I'm off to start the laundry." She paused. "Oh, and don't use too much garlic this time." She walked off without shutting the door, clearly implying he should hop to it.

Kankuro glared after her. It was typical. Although they did razz each other a lot, he occasionally felt like she really didn't care about his feelings at all. Why did she strike out at him so much at times? It hurt. A lot. Far more than he'd ever truly admit to himself.

Five minutes later, he found himself pulling pots and skillets out of the cabinets. Even at his fastest, it would still take him thirty minutes to fix supper, and his siblings usually requested dishes that took closer to an hour. By the time he finished washing and putting up the dishes, it would be 8:30, and if he wanted to function for his early mission in the morning, he'd have to be in bed by ten. That didn't leave much time to finish preparing his puppets, much less playacting, and frankly he needed to train. He'd only trained once so far that week, and he took too much pride in his jutsu to let his skills stagnate.

However, none of it would be that simple. If Temari got bored, she'd come down and talk to him while he was trying to work, and then there was Gaara, who Kankuro loved more than his own life. If Gaara showed up and wanted to talk to him, regardless of what it was about, Kankuro would never say no. Unfortunately, between the two of them, Kankuro often didn't get to do much for himself until fifteen minutes before he was supposed to go to bed.

"I'm going to lose my mind," Kankuro muttered to himself as he pulled out a cutting board. "Completely, totally, and utterly lose my mind."

Supper was a disaster. Kankuro was too distracted by his thoughts to focus well, so the fish got charred. Temari complained that he still had used too much garlic, and Gaara was unusually quiet and pensive, even for him. By the time Kankuro escaped to his workshop again, he had a headache.

He stayed up until one o'clock in the morning, siphoning his pain into a particularly angsty play he made up on the spot. It was a pressure valve that kept him from killing the people he loved — or other basically innocent people.

In the final scene, the main character committed suicide, and Kankuro lay in the floor like a corpse, staring blankly at the ceiling and wondering if, in reality, he was much more than walking dead.

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><p><em>AN: Temari's next (plus some brotherly bonding, too). I really wanted this to be a one-shot, but I thought it might it be too long as a single document._

_Thank you to all who read and review!  
><em>


	2. Part 2

**Part II**

Temari had a secret.

She desperately wanted to be Kazekage.

She hadn't mentioned it in years. Not to Kankuro, who had been closest to her for most her life. Not to Gaara, who would understand her dream. Not to Baki, who could have altered her training to prepare her. And certainly not to her father, who had judged her a failure when she was ten and then never changed his mind.

But it didn't change the truth.

Since she was six, she had dreamed of being the first female Kazekage. She had drawn pictures of it, written little one-paragraph storybooks about it, and even played dress-up using sheets to make the kimono. With youthful enthusiasm, she had daydreamed that she fixed all the village's problems and made the villagers successful and happy. She had told her teacher and class at school what her ultimate goal was, and because she was both the Kazekage's child and the eldest, no one had laughed at her despite her being female. Kunoichi like Chiyo had helped pave her way.

However, Gaara had taken on her dream, and over time he'd grown significantly stronger than she was. When he'd first graduated, the power difference had been small; the real difference had been Gaara's ultimate defense, not his attack power. But one year passed, then two, then three, and Temari found herself falling continually behind both her brothers. So she had swallowed the dream, supported Gaara in every official capacity she could think of, and ultimately been proud of his progress.

But it didn't make it hurt any less.

When people talked about Gaara's successor, when they discussed his need to pick a successor, Temari felt an odd tension, even anxiety. The mere idea of competing for such a title filled her with inexplicable fear. She felt like she could never win against Kankuro now; the overconfident brat had gone from being her equal to passing her up. What had begun as legitimate belief in herself had slowly slipped into secret insecurity. Her father hadn't seen her as special; both her little brothers had eclipsed her. Who would ever believe she could be Kazekage now? She'd only made jonin because of her superior skills in decision making, organizing, and upholding responsibility. But did anyone even care about those things? Other people had them, and what the council really wanted — what they really respected — was _power._ Cold, hard, unadulterated, ass-kicking _power._The way things stood now, Kankuro and Gaara would both always surpass her. She could only become Kazekage if they both died, and no matter how jealous she felt, she could never wish for that. Usually.

Sometimes the daydream sneaked into her brain anyway. Sometimes, just sometimes, she daydreamed that her brothers died valiantly saving the village and the council came to beg her to be Kazekage. She occasionally wished she'd been an only child. Mostly, she wished both her brothers would spontaneously abdicate the "throne."

But no, Kankuro would be named the successor, obviously, and he acted as though he didn't even want it. That made Temari want to beat him into a bloody pulp. She rode him extra hard those days, calling him lazy, saying he was too hotheaded, telling him he didn't know how to take responsibility. She knew perfectly well that with the exception of his being hotheaded, the rest wasn't true. Still, the words left her mouth, and so far she hadn't convinced herself to stop them. She got angry, the world turned crimson, and the words were past her lips.

Today was no exception. It was only six o'clock in the morning, and she already wanted to kill both her brothers.

"Fucking early missions," Kankuro grumbled, tying knots on their bento boxes. He'd never been a morning person.

"Stop whining." Temari kicked back her chair, leaving her breakfast dishes on the table for him to clean up. "No one really wants to start work at six, but we often do. It's part of being a shinobi. Get over it."

Kankuro glared at her and shoved her bento box across the counter at her. "Shut it. I've been up an hour longer than you already so you can have a decent breakfast and lunch. All you do is fall out of bed, get dressed, and come eat. Try getting up seven days a week and making all the food and see how you feel about it."

With a flash of insight, Temari realized she'd caught her brother in one of his truly black moods; however, that in no way made her back down. "I thought I said to stop whining. You agreed to do the cooking. No one made you." She reached for her bento box.

"Good point." Kankuro snatched back the bento. "I did agree to it. Which also means I can stop at any time. You never thank me for what I do, and you spend all your time complaining that I over-season it or leave me to clean your dishes, too. So fine. Fucking fix it yourself from now on." He threw her lunch in the trash, box and all.

Temari barely stopped herself from punching him right in the jaw. "Well, I guess I won't be washing your clothes anymore then, either."

"So?" Kankuro sneered at her. "You always wait so long to do it that half the time I have to wash my stuff anyway. You can't even keep up with a once a week chore, and here I am cooking three meals a day, every day — "

Gaara, who had listened to this exchange silently thus far, stood abruptly. "Enough!"

Kankuro grew quiet immediately. Without a further word to any of them, he stalked out of the room, leaving his own lunch behind.

Gaara watched him head back upstairs, then turned to Temari. "Was that necessary? He's never been a morning person. You know that. You've known him his entire life. He doesn't calm down until eight A.M. even on a good day, and on bad days — which this obviously is — he doesn't calm down until ten."

"Sure, take his side." Temari jerked her bento out of the trash and checked it over. Fortunately, it didn't seem stained. "You love him more than you love me anyway." The words flew out without thought. When she realized what she'd admitted that her hypothetical situation was true, though, she didn't take it back; she simply made a show of double-checking her bento. Fundamentally, she felt she was right. Although Gaara usually acted unemotional, he ultimately accessed and viewed the world through his feelings, just like Kankuro. Temari was the only one who processed the world logically. Her brothers had warmed up to each other faster and built a deeper bond. Even though she believed that they loved her, she sometimes felt left out.

For a moment, the kitchen was silent. "That's not true." Gaara sounded deeply hurt. "So your example yesterday was based on your real feelings. Nee-san . . ."

Temari glanced at him. "You always take his side." She felt she was being somewhat irrational, so she tried hard to sound reasonable and present evidence.

Gaara stared at her. "Untrue. But we can discuss the possibility of misinformation, truth, or wounds later." He'd grown deadpan once again, which in a situation like this wasn't a good sign. "There is a basic imbalance here. Kankuro worries about both of us all the time, and he's done a lot around here to make sure we're taken care of. Since we had to dismiss the servants, that's meant he's done the cooking. He gets up earlier, and he works longer. Every day. It's genuinely unfair for us to overlook that or be unappreciative about it."

"It's his choice," Temari pointed out. "We negotiated the chores; we didn't make him do it. He's just being immature, and that doesn't give him the right to whine about it."

Frowning, Gaara narrowed his eyes. "And that doesn't give you the right to complain about how he cooks it, nor does it give you the right to treat him with disrespect. If he felt more appreciated, he probably wouldn't say a word about it. In fact, he rarely says anything anyway, and he wouldn't have this morning if you hadn't antagonized him about his being in a bad mood over an early mission."

Normally, Temari didn't bother to argue with Gaara. She rarely won, and Gaara usually approached her with logic, anyway. Today was different. "We all have early missions. It's part of being a shinobi. If he's that upset about it — if he hates his job so much — he should just quit and leave it to those of us who actually care!"

For long moments, they glared at each other.

Gaara's gaze wandered off to the kitchen corner. "Perhaps you have a point. Kankuro may not be happy. I should speak with him."

The irony of the comment struck Temari through the soul. "_Kankuro_ is unhappy?"

Instantly, Gaara's deadpan stare was pinned on her once more. "Temari is unhappy?"

Temari literally took a step backwards, having not expected to air her feelings this way. _Finally let my temper get the best of me. _She smirked over her own stupidity. "Neither of you act like you enjoy your positions. I don't understand it." She hoped she'd sufficiently dodged. "Didn't you both work hard all your lives to be where you are? Kankuro always said he'd become head of the Puppet Corps, and you said you wanted to be Kazekage." Her gaze fell to the floor as she realized there was a theme here. None of them seemed happy. "So why do you both seem to hate it?"

Silence reigned once more.

"It was the only way for me to be accepted," Gaara answered quietly.

Temari jerked her gaze up. "_What?_ Seriously? That's your answer?" _I lost my greatest dream just because you misunderstood validation and value?_

Gaara met her stare without flinching. "I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be needed. I was lonely — so lonely I thought I'd suffocate and die." His stoic mask cracked, letting the anger seep through. "Don't tell me it wasn't an answer. It was a solution. If I proved myself to the village, if I protected them and looked after them, then surely, surely, _surely_ they would finally see that I wasn't a monster. And it worked."

"I know that." It wasn't a lie. Temari had understood that Gaara was trying to be seen in a new light. "But that's not really a good reason, is it?" She hadn't intended to confront him about his beliefs, but once her thoughts had escaped her, she couldn't seem to put on the breaks. "Why are we all three pretending that it is? This is what we discussed yesterday: Why did you need to buy their acceptance in the first place? Why should their opinions even matter? You've spent your entire life being defined by other people — what they think, what role you play for them, what they like. Why not define it for yourself? The people whose love is worth having would have loved you. They do love you. But you don't have an identity for yourself. You said before that you'd love yourself and only yourself, but it's not true. You didn't then, and you still don't now."

Gaara didn't reply.

Strangely, Temari felt like the world wasn't real. For a moment, the kitchen wasn't a real place: the countertop wasn't cool under her palm, the bento box wasn't a weight in her other hand, and the light wasn't shining off the cabinets. She certainly hadn't deconstructed her brother's entire life. She didn't breathe.

"I don't want it anymore," Gaara finally said. His voice was so quiet he could hardly be heard; he stared at the hardwood floor. "I can give orders; I can process the paperwork. I can fight. I care about the village and want it to be protected. But I hate the politics. I hate the pandering, patronizing, and lying. I hate having my life be under their scrutiny all day every day; I hate all my decisions being public ones and not private ones. I feel just the same as I did before in that sense: I'm an object. I'm a toy in a box." He finally met her gaze. "I have no private life, no personal time, and no personal space, and I feel like I'm suffocating again."

Stunned, Temari hardly knew what to say. "You . . . can just admit it? Just like that?" She expected him to deny her claims.

"Don't you believe you're right?" Gaara raised a hairless brow at her. "I wanted to become Kazekage for the wrong reason. I wanted to lead so I would be accepted. I realized after I died and was resurrected that I had been able to lead because I'd already been accepted. But having been accepted, I realized my motives were wrong. They were no less selfish than they had been before; it was only that others benefited from my selfishness this time. And in my effort to become selfless instead, I gave away myself. Now I have nothing. Everyone thinks I do my job well, but I have no personal identity. And I'm certainly not happy."

Finally, Temari had heard the words she needed to hear, wanted to hear, had dreamed of hearing: Gaara didn't want to be Kazekage. For years she'd carried the pain of a shattered dream, and an opening had presented itself. However, she realized she'd gotten that opening through someone else's pain and suffering — someone she loved. That didn't make her happy. But an opportunity was an opportunity. "I'd trade you in a heartbeat." Temari watched Gaara coolly, assessing his reaction. "I've dreamed of being Kazekage since I was six years old." She sneered. "Too bad I'm not as strong as you are."

Gaara's stoic mask was back in place again; he returned her scrutiny without expression. "You're as strong right now as I was when I was promoted. They didn't make me Kazekage because I was the strongest shinobi in the village; they made me Kazekage in order to control me. They accepted my application because I was Yondaime's son, and admittedly I was strong. But they wanted to suppress Shukaku if they could, and they used my youth and inexperience to continue running the village themselves. I was nothing but their figurehead."

"They respect you now," Temari pointed out. "The whole village loves you. They wouldn't understand if you resigned."

"That's not my problem." Gaara's gaze narrowed again. "I'm responsible for me, and I'm responsible for the village's safety and welfare. I am not responsible for their feelings, as you pointed out before. If you proved yourself worthy of my position — if you showed me that your motives were true and your abilities up to the task — I would nominate you and then step down."

A flat thud against the floor told Temari she'd actually dropped her bento box; her fingers were so numb from her sudden emotional shock that she hadn't felt her grip loosen. Until that moment, she hadn't believed it was possible to drop something from shock. However, the world had reversed itself. Time had reversed itself. Suddenly, her dream had fused itself back together. "Nominate . . . me?"

"Kankuro is obviously deeply unhappy, although I don't know why yet." Gaara frowned. "I know he doesn't want to be Kazekage, though." He gestured in her direction vaguely. "Prove to me your motivation is true. Prove to me that you want to rule this village because you love it. That you would make sacrifices to secure our success. That you have a vision for who we can become, a plan to make it happen, and a desire to impart a multi-generational blessing upon us. Prove to me that you want to leave a village-wide legacy behind, to give us a better future, and not just some kind of personal legacy of your greatness. Prove that to me, and the job is yours."

Gaara turned and stepped into the doorway, only to pause and glance over his shoulder. "If you can't prove it, then there's no point. You won't be any different than I am. Perhaps worse. I at least understand what I'm supposed to be doing now. I've simply acknowledged that this is not my strong point. It's not my gift. I'm having to do the best I can. But your personality is different than mine, so maybe the strength is yours naturally. If you have the gift, then you should do the job." He turned away again, stepping into the hall. "In the meantime, don't take out your frustration on Kankuro."

Without another word, he left, presumably to find and help their brother.

Temari stared at the empty doorway. Stared and stared. She didn't see the lintel. She didn't see the bottom of the staircase or the banister. She didn't see the hallway beyond. She saw instead the world of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She imagined a renovated village, a prosperous village, a village with plenty of missions. She saw a larger academy; she envisioned expanded training programs. She saw the details of the dreams she'd used to have, and she smiled.

From deep within her, her spirit rose to the challenge.

* * *

><p>Gaara found Kankuro in his bedroom, curled on his side in bed. This in and of itself was a bad sign. Kankuro was not the type to admit defeat and go back to bed. Worried, Gaara sat on the bed by him and rubbed his arm lightly. Physical touch was not something that had come easily to Gaara; so far, only Naruto and Kankuro had managed to either give or receive it from him. But he'd made the progress he had because they first reached out to him. So in that moment, Gaara wanted to comfort his brother.<p>

At the touch on his arm, Kankuro focused his gaze on his ototo, and something in his body language subtly shifted, almost as though he'd relaxed from the inside. One of the things Gaara had figured out about his nii-san was that underneath all those layers and masks, Kankuro was highly affectionate. He didn't just want to hug people; he also needed to be touched. He hid it well, probably thinking people would accuse him of being effeminate, but around Gaara it had begun slipping out. Gaara certainly didn't mind. If he'd felt more confident about such things, he would have asked to be hugged every day. He wanted someone to love and care for him — and show it to him — like Might Gai did for Rock Lee.

"What is it, Nii-san?" Gaara knew he got the best results when he called Kankuro "brother." Kankuro loved it when Gaara acknowledged their bond.

Kankuro looked away. "Aren't you gonna call me hot-tempered or smartassed or whatever? Tell me I've overstepped my bounds?"

Realizing that his brother felt like he'd taken Temari's side, Gaara rubbed his arm again. "No. I interrupted you because you're a little too good at verbal smack-downs, not because what you were saying was untrue. Your anger is valid. I didn't want you to have to apologize later for how you expressed it." He paused, wondering if he'd made the right decision or not. "Actually, I'm likely the one who owes you an apology."

"'Sokay." Kankuro watched him quietly. Gaara noted how dull and flat his brother's eyes seemed, as though his soul had departed.

"Talk to me," Gaara said quietly. He'd figured out early on that his style of communication and his brother's were very different. In fact, his style of communication — a kind of bare-all expression of his true analysis, thoughts, and feelings — was based on Naruto's highly open and honest comments to him. It was one more thing that he'd copied from his first friend. But men in Suna weren't usually so expressive; Kankuro kept most things to himself and covered his feelings with masks. However, just like Naruto had created a space in which Gaara could admit what was really on his mind, Gaara had created a space for Kankuro. It was simply a matter of inviting him into it.

Glancing away, Kankuro frowned. "She's being a bitch about it."

A surface-level comment. Gaara would have to coax him in further. "I see how hard you're working to take care of us. It's not something I'd take for granted." He left his hand on his brother's arm so he could continue to offer comfort. "You're unhappy, though. Would you like for me to hire a cook?"

Kankuro flinched. "No, man. I'd feel guilty if you did that."

The response was typical. From the most merciless fighter Gaara had ever known came the greatest amount of mercy: Kankuro had a big heart. Even when Gaara was insane, Kankuro had worried about him. He'd listened to his new dream without judgment, supported his efforts without question, and worked hard to care for and protect him. "Why?" he asked gently. "You spend two hours a day fixing our food. On days like this, you get up at five in the morning to get breakfast and lunch prepared; go out and do your mission, train, or guest lecture at the academy; come back and fix supper; and don't get out of the kitchen until seven o'clock at the earliest. In order to function properly, you have to go to sleep no later than ten, and by the time you take a bath and deal with other daily things, you only get two hours to yourself."

Kankuro inhaled deeply and didn't exhale again; he seemed to be holding his breath.

"I've figured out what you're doing," Gaara said, rubbing his arm again. "You're staying up until midnight or later so you get enough time to work on your puppets. Two hours is what it takes for you to do the normal cleaning and standard upgrades. To do something really creative or innovative takes a lot more time. And half the time you don't get those two hours, anyway. Temari and I show up in your room and ask you for help with something else. Admit it: you don't get enough time for yourself."

The breath finally came out as a sharp sigh. "Yeah, _jan_, that's about it." He wouldn't meet Gaara's gaze. "I love you guys. Really. And I do want to take care of you. I don't want you to just . . . go away. But fucking dammit, I feel like I'm drowning here!" He draped his arm over his eyes, hiding most of his face.

"You can't keep this up." Gaara felt the desperate urge to hug his brother, but he hadn't yet figured out how to spontaneously show that level of affection. "How many hours of sleep did you get last night? Four? It's no wonder you're so angry about going on an early mission. It's not just that you aren't a morning person; you also aren't getting enough sleep to be up at five in the morning." He made the decision abruptly. "You're not going today."

That seemed to sufficiently shock Kankuro. He dropped his arm. "What? Nah, man, don't do that."

"My mind's made up." Gaara refused to budge. "Stay home. Sleep. Then work on your puppets. Also, we're ordering take out tonight. No cooking."

Kankuro sat up. "But I'm not sick! I'm just . . ." He trailed off, staring at his lap.

"Exhausted? I agree. Physically and emotionally, you're exhausted." Gaara only knew how to approach these things logically. "Baki's been logging too many desk hours; he needs to get out in the field. I'll send him with your team instead. It's not like you can perform well when this exhausted, anyway. Someone could get hurt or killed." Realizing the truth of his own argument, he frowned. "_You_ could be hurt or killed." That outcome was unthinkable. Now that he had his brother's love, he couldn't imagine losing it again.

With tired eyes, Kankuro met his gaze. "But isn't Temari right? Shouldn't I just suck it up? Being a shinobi is not a convenient job. It's not an easy one, either. It requires a lot of effort, energy, danger, and sacrifice. If I stayed home for something other than a violent illness or a bad injury, I'd feel like a total wimp." He snorted. "Not to mention Temari'd never let me live it down."

"Then tell her to back off." Gaara knew he was fighting Suna's ethic head on. Suna was brutal towards its shinobi, especially the male ones. Kankuro had exemplified that definition of manhood: no mercy, no second-guessing, all attitude, and all ambition. He would fight first, kill his target without hesitation, train until he passed out, and aspire to endlessly greater heights. And most of all, he would never let anyone outside of his family see his true self. "I know you don't have any problem giving as good as you get. For all that she attempts to boss you around, and always has, you call her on her attitude most of the time. And besides, there's nothing wimpy about it. Your body isn't the only thing that can get sick, and you just said yourself that doing this takes a lot of effort and energy."

Kankuro's gaze dropped to his lap. "Nah, man. I've got a duty to uphold here. I'm a team leader. I gotta pull my shit together and get my ass in gear." And with those words of great motivation, he flopped back onto his side and buried his face in the pillow.

For a moment, Gaara had to smile to himself at the irony. Usually when Kankuro said things like that, he was on his feet and angry enough to punch a hole through the wall. However, the smile died quickly. Kankuro's atypical behavior was a sure sign he was in an overwhelming amount of pain. "You aren't taking care of yourself," he said quietly. "If you want to talk duty, then talk about your duty to take care of yourself." He defaulted to logic once again. "You're not going to be useful to anyone if you're dead."

Kankuro groaned faintly.

Logic wasn't getting the job done. "I don't want Nii-san to die." Gaara again had the urge to hug his brother. He desperately wanted to protect him and take care of him. "I need Nii-san. I need Nii-san to be healthy and happy. Nii-san isn't happy. Why?"

A long, heavy silence followed.

Kankuro peeked out of the pillow. "What if I said . . ." he began in a whisper.

Gaara began rubbing his arm once more, hoping he would continue.

"What if I said . . . I never wanted to be a shinobi at all?"

Stunned, Gaara paused mid-stroke. Kankuro was one of the most talented shinobi in their village. "You — you didn't?" He barely controlled his tone in time. Fortunately, he only sounded surprised.

Kankuro grabbed the pillow and hugged it against his chest. "No. Yes. Sort of." He sighed and closed his eyes. "When I was enrolled in the academy, Father asked me what jutsu I wanted to specialize in." He hesitated. "I told him I wanted to be an actor. He said, 'That's a typical child's fantasy. I went through that stage. But you're a shinobi. Everyone in our clan has always been a shinobi, and as my son, you can't just be any shinobi. You have to be a strong one.'"

Horrified, Gaara realized where this story was headed. "He didn't give you a choice." It wasn't surprising; Gaara hadn't gotten a choice about anything.

"Hell, no." Kankuro rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "So I thought about all the shinobi I'd seen so far, and the only one I identified with at all was Uncle Yashamaru. I told Father I wanted to be a med nin."

"He vetoed it?" Gaara was honestly shocked. "But Yashamaru was his right-hand man, and Chiyo was his advisor. His top two shinobi were med nins."

Kankuro smirked. "But Chiyo was a woman, and apparently Father thought our uncle was gay. He told me it wasn't manly enough. 'Boys aren't med nins,' he said. He used them. He relied on them. But no son of his would ever be one."

Gaara felt like his brain could literally break from the stupidity of it. "There are plenty of male med nins. That's ridiculous."

"Originally, there were only male ones," Kankuro pointed out. "When we allowed women to fight, too, we shunted them off into caretaking roles: med nins, psych nins, sensory nins. And instead of acknowledging that women are equally capable, what we really did was begin to downplay the prestige of the positions we let them have. Now a job that only men were 'smart enough' and 'good enough' to hold, like being a med nin, is suddenly too 'weak' and 'gay.'" He snorted. "Ask Temari. She'll explain it better than I can."

Gaara didn't have to ask her. As soon as Kankuro brought up the topic, he knew he was right. "So Father vetoed your dream to be an actor, and then when you accepted you had to be a shinobi, he vetoed your dream to be a med nin."

"I didn't know what to do." Kankuro shrugged. "My aptitude test said I was tailor-made to be a med nin; I have the fine chakra control and precision necessary. There wasn't anything else I was remotely interested in. I really liked going to plays, though, and I noticed a lot of puppet masters doubled as med nin." He rolled back onto his side, curling up once again as though protecting his vital organs. "Grandpa showed me his battle puppets and let me try them out. They reminded me of my toys, and when I played with them, I could imagine I was on stage instead. So I chose the puppet jutsu."

With sudden insight, Gaara understood why his brother sometimes got himself in trouble on the battlefield by making his combat overly artistic. Unless he was overmatched, he spent a lot of effort on the dramatic effect and staging instead of cutting to the kill. Baki had complained about it bitterly, claiming Kankuro didn't take fighting seriously. However, Kankuro was overwhelmingly successful, so no punitive action had ever been taken. "When you fight, you're on stage. That's your compromise. It's how you remain sane."

"Yeah." Kankuro's voice was muffled by the pillow he hugged.

Gaara saw it all: the reason his brother complained about getting up early, the reason he occasionally had grumbled when on missions, the reason he wore kabuki paint and a bunraku uniform, the reason he artistically staged his fights, and the reason he never let anyone insult him. "You sacrificed everything you had to live up to our father's expectations and demands."

And it had continued, Gaara realized. Kankuro's entire mode of behavior was to sacrifice himself to meet other people's demands. Having been taught that his own desires and needs didn't matter, he defaulted to meeting his family's expectations. He genuinely loved his family and wanted to protect or help them, such as doing the cooking, but the only method he knew to do that was unhealthy. It sacrificed his personhood.

"Take it back," Gaara said, resolute. He understood his brother's pain all too well. "You have to take it back. It's your life, and it's your dream. What do you need, Nii-san? Do you want me to assign you to a jonin med nin so you can retrain? Do you want to quit altogether? Our local theater is doing well right now, and you're already trained to control puppets. You'll have to learn a different style, but they love it when people from the puppet corps volunteer for special performances. Surely they would accept you."

Lowering the pillow, Kankuro stared at him. "_What?_" He sat up once again. "I can't quit. I'm a jonin. We don't have a lot of those. Plus I'm Yondaime's son. No one would ever accept it. I'm supposed to be the next master of the puppet corps! Everyone is looking to me to take over. There isn't even anyone else in the running. If I just walked out — "

"Nii-san," Gaara interrupted gently. "Those are all reasons based on other people's feelings, needs, and views. I don't care what they want. I want to know what you want." He met his gaze and held it. "What does Nii-san truly want?"

Tears pooled in Kankuro's eyes; he glanced away. "I don't wanna do it," he whispered. "I never wanted to be in charge. The head of the puppet corps puts in twelve-hour work days. I already don't get any time to myself. If I did that, I'd never have a life. Besides . . . I don't want to be in on all those meetings, organize all those training programs, deal with all those policies, or discipline all those infractions. Oh, fuck no!" His voice raised suddenly. "I don't want that at all!"

"Nii-san is an introvert," Gaara said softly, understanding this aspect of his brother's pain as well. "Nii-san needs a lot of time to himself. A lot of privacy and a lot of space. Being the head of one of the units is a huge responsibility that requires a great deal of time and energy."

Kankuro nodded. "I want a life, ya know? Work shouldn't be the only thing in my world."

Gaara did know, only too well. "If you didn't feel suffocated in your personal life, you could handle that responsibility much better. As it is, it's just more of a burden on top of the ones you're already carrying. You have to learn to say no to Temari and me, too. My offer to hire a cook stands, and at the very least, the three of us should sit down and redistribute the chores."

This time, Kankuro didn't automatically object. "But I really just want . . ." He sighed deeply, as though he could exhale all the air out of his body and even expel his soul. "I dunno. If I'm going to be a shinobi at all, then I'd really prefer . . . I think I'd be a lot happier if I were a med nin."

Nodding, Gaara decided that wasn't too surprising. "You've made sure you enjoy fighting, but at the same time, there are other things that give you more joy. Things that are more fulfilling to your natural personality. With training, you would probably be an excellent med nin."

Kankuro gave him a tentative smile. "Thanks, ototo." The smile faded quickly. "Do you think so? Do you really think I could just . . . quit? Go train to do something else?"

"Realistically?" Gaara considered the problem. "You would have to work part-time and train part-time. I couldn't pull you off the duty roster completely. You would have to transition. It would probably take a good three years. But if it's your dream — if it's what you really, genuinely want — then it would be worth it."

Kankuro seemed to chew that over for several minutes. "And if I quit entirely and became an actor?"

"I wouldn't stop you." Gaara reached out and took his brother's hands, squeezing them. "You can live here as long as I'm in power." He didn't elaborate on that comment, saving that revelation for another time. "And I'd always make sure you were clothed and fed, even if it took years for you break into the business." He made up his mind in that moment that if Temari became Kazekage instead and kicked Kankuro out for being a struggling actor, then he would support his brother until he got on his feet. Kankuro had supported Gaara in his quest to become Kazekage, and Gaara would return that support one hundred percent. "Once again, I suggest transitioning. It'd probably make it easier on you. But if you quit outright, I would still support you."

Silently, Kankuro stared at him for several moments before replying. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"You won't take it back?"

"Absolutely not."

Kankuro resumed staring.

Gaara understood. "You feel like someone offered to spring you out of jail, and you expect there to be some kind of catch."

"It really seems too good to be true." Kankuro's eyes began to glisten again. "Seriously? I don't have to — I don't have to keep carrying someone else's dream? I can do what I want?"

Gaara nodded. "It's your life, Nii-san. You can do whatever you want to. And I'll support you just like you supported me." He decided his brother didn't really see what he'd done. "You stood behind me every day every step of the way as I worked to be Kazekage. You saw that I believed it was the ticket to my happiness, and you never once discouraged me. You didn't try to make me 'face reality' or 'do something more practical.' It was my dream, and you told me over and over, through your words or your actions, that I would survive the struggle. That I would succeed. That you believed in me and my abilities. Do you have any idea what that means to me?" He felt tears in his eyes instead. "_No one_had ever believed in me before. Don't you think I'll do the same for you?"

A strange mix of emotions crossed Kankuro's face — pride, happiness, relief, hope, and love. "Ototo . . . thank you." He paused. "I think I'd like to try training as a med nin first."

"Certainly." Gaara didn't believe his brother was following his truest dream, and he hoped that once Kankuro figured out Gaara was serious he would consider acting instead. However, Kankuro needed to be the one to determine what he would do, and Gaara would support him even if he changed his mind several times before settling down.

They stared at each other, and Gaara had a terrible moment in which he realized they were both on the verge of crying. Kankuro opened his arms, and Gaara scooted forward, more than happy to hug and be hugged. They squeezed each other so hard Gaara nearly couldn't breathe, but the embrace felt warm and comforting.

After a minute, Kankuro laughed, although it sounded watery. "We're such a mess."

Gaara couldn't deny that, but he purposefully pretended to misinterpret. "Oh, I don't know about that." He pulled back and gave his brother a small grin. "I think we're finally on our way."

Kankuro smiled.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The play titles in this fic are based on real plays by the historical playwright Chikamatsu Monzaemon. I used Databook 3 as my source for the power rankings of the Sandsibs._

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed part 1 and to all who review part 2!_


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